In contemplation of the money Storm was stirred despite his sang-froid. Horton’s psychology had been sound; it was one thing to deal in figures and quite another to view the actual cash before one.
“This is some money!” He unconsciously adopted his companion’s slang. “I don’t wonder you go heeled, as you call it, with that much at stake!”
“I’ve handled twice as much during the war, when we were speeding up production to the limit,” Horton boasted as he fastened the bag and placed it on the floor at his feet. “Twice as much and then some, and never lost a cent! I’m not taking any chances, though; the constabulary down there do their part, and a wonderful lot of fellows they are, but they can’t be everywhere at once. The last guy that held my job was found in a thicket by the road with his head bashed in. The birds that got him were caught, but a lot of good it did him! No, sir. I take mighty good care not to land in his shoes!”
A hundred and twelve thousand dollars! The figures themselves held an odd fascination for Storm, and he could not keep his eyes from straying to the bag.
“I had an experience out in Montana in the early days when I was new to the game.” Horton settled back once more luxuriously into his chair. “I was only carrying five thousand then, but it looked as big as a million to me, and I don’t mind telling you that I was plumb scared of the responsibility. I had a wild bit of road to cover between the town and the mine, and I jumped at every shadow. We had a rough lot out there, too; scum of the earth, even for a raw mining camp. One night four guys that we had turned off laid for me; they’d have done for me, too, only by sheer dumb luck I got the drop on them first. I held ’em there, all four of ’em, till a gang of our own men came along, but it was a narrow squeak for me! Lord, but I was one sick hombre!”
He chuckled reminiscently, but his host did not smile. Instead, his lips tightened and an avid gleam came into his eyes. A hundred and twelve thousand dollars! What it would mean to him! If he had Jack’s opportunity——!
“There was another time down in Mexico.” His guest was in the flood tide of garrulity now, all unconscious of the train of thought his innocent display had evoked. “A couple of greasers tried to stick me up, but I drilled a hole in one of them, and the other beat it for the hills. It’s tame here in the East compared to those days, but there’s always a chance of trouble in my game.”
How ridiculously small and flimsy the black bag looked to contain such tremendous potentialities! All that Du Chainat’s alluring proposition had held out, and more, was there before him in the custody of this smirking, self-assured boor! Storm felt a wave of unaccountable hatred for the other man sweeping over him. What right had Jack Horton to flaunt that money in his face? God, if it were only his!
He roused himself to realize that the other was eying him in a crestfallen fashion, disappointed that his narrative had seemed to make no impression, and Storm collected his vagrant thoughts.
“I envy you your experiences,” he said. “The element of danger must be exhilarating. To walk out of the station, as you did to-night, and realize that if the very men who rubbed shoulders with you in the street knew what was in that bag your life might not be worth tuppence——”